Stay, Until the Sun Rises
by HelloJudy
Summary: Buffy struggles with her feelings of Spike as he's away, and when he returns, finally comes to terms with them..."She was close enough now to see the color of his bruises and the depth of the cuts in the silver light, close enough to wonder what other horrors lie under his black shirt where it was once a playground for her mouth."
1. Awaiting

Buffy/Spike fanfiction [6/02] Post Season 6 ( Decided to combine all three chapters into one story so it won't be so confusing-thnx Atterb for letting me know that. BtVS characters are so complex. I hope I was true to Buffy's character. I did what I could. All characters belong to Whedon and ME)  
  
STAY, UNTIL THE SUN RISES: AWAITING  
  
The night chill took care of her, cooled her as her body was in a heated chase after a newly awakened vamp dressed in a rumpled suit. She sped through the cemetery with a quickness only the Slayer possesses, her wooden stake easily clutched in her hand as she swiftly leapt over gravestones and dodged trees with sharp agility.  
  
Her panting was heavy, drowning out the cricket songs that hung in the air with the tree branches. But she wouldn't listen to them sing. Her focus was firmly set on her target as it dashed through the night, searching for refuge from the one human his kind fears. She accelerated when she saw a grave stone ahead of her, ultimately deciding to use it as a jumping off point.  
  
She cart wheeled through the air, her foot arrowed straight into the vampire's back, sending him flying and landing hard on to the ground. She rushed to him before he could get up, but was unprepared when his leg sprung up, giving one powerful kick into her abdomen.  
  
She flew; her back against the wind as her body was limp. Her heart sunk, half used to, half fearing the unknown of her landing.  
  
Suddenly, arms from behind caught her along with a familiar scent of cigarettes and whiskey, and they landed backwards on to the crisp grass.  
  
"I got you Slayer."  
  
The voice, English and intimate, caused a jolt in her gut that frightened and eased her at the same time.  
  
His arms were protectively taut around her tensed body even after the impact. When she turned her head, her gaze meeting his, locking to the very blue of his eyes, her breath hitched at the surprise of him.  
  
"I got you." He said at whisper.  
  
Spike.  
  
Buffy awoke to a jerked gasp as she was startled back into reality. Her eyes were half opened and sleepy as they scanned, reorienting herself to her surroundings. When she saw she was alone in Spike's crypt, only seeing silver moonlight bounce off the concrete walls, she quietly sighed, slouching back on to the muddy colored couch, and hugged her knees close to her chest.  
  
"He hasn't come back yet. It's only me."  
  
Startled that she wasn't alone with the privacy of her dream, she jumped to her feet and turned towards the friendly demon behind her.  
  
"Clem! Hey! Who? Oh, Spike? No." Her movements, like her speech, were awkward; her hands tugging at the hem of her denim jacket, then crossing her arms over her breasts. "I wasn't waiting for Spike. I told you before. I get a little tired sometimes, you know, from patrolling."  
  
Clem stood casually by the refrigerator, munching on a bag of spicy cheese fries. Powdered cheddar stained his flipper-like hands, even sprinkled on to his green vest. He listened unconditionally as Buffy dispensed her usual lame excuse of why she's at Spike's crypt. Almost every night for about a month since he left, Clem either bumped into her on her way out, or would find her on the couch in a dream brewed sleep where he'd hear the name escape her lips.  
  
Other nights he wouldn't come by, leaving her be with her thoughts and the longing she constantly denied. She knew, just as much as he did, that she was waiting.  
  
But he never asked questions or meddled in anyone else's affairs with out their consent. Despite his appearance of loose, hanging peach skin and crooked teeth that would scare at first sight, he was a dear friend who always stood unwavered.  
  
She tucked a loose strand of her blond hair behind her ear, crossed her arms again. "This is the only place in the cemetery I know of with a couch, so I thought I'd get a little shut eye before heading out again."  
  
"Well why don't you lie down on the sarcophagus. I'll give you the softest pillows and---"  
  
"--No. Thanks." He had the kindest voice she thought. "Now that you're here I'll be out of your way."  
  
"Are you sure? This is my place until he gets back, so my rules. Stay. How about something to eat? Cheese fry?"  
  
He's not coming back. So why am I always here? She muttered in her thoughts as he offered her the bag.  
  
"No, thank you, really. I better check if Dawn is up watching some gory horror flick."  
  
"Ooh, I told her to stop watching those Jason movies. They scare the living daylights outta me."  
  
"Yeah." She turned towards the exit, glanced back once with a smile. "Good night."  
  
"Good night."  
  
Then she reached the handle to the door and hesitated. "Um, Clem?"  
  
"Yes Buffy."  
  
Thank you for being so understanding, she wanted to say as the door creaked open, moonlight slicing the dark like a knife. "Thanks."  
  
"Anytime." He knew what she meant.  
  
**********  
  
She stood over the threshold of the back door of her home, taking one last glimpse behind her. She didn't want to hear foot steps, but swore she almost could from far away. She told herself it was nothing, that the only sound heard was the stars twinkling like tiny bells in the thick blanket of sky.  
  
Closing the door behind her, she then crept through the shadows of the house, up to Dawn's room.  
  
"Dawn, you should be asleep." The motherly tone in her voice was fixed on her sister, who was reading a teen magazine under thin light, then tossed it aside when Buffy walked in.  
  
"I was waiting up for you. You've been coming home later than usual." Buffy sat at the edge of the bed, raked her fingers through the long silk of Dawn's roasted brown hair.  
  
"You know how it is. Creatures of the dark only come out at dark." Dawn sunk under the sheets as her sister tucked her in.  
  
"When can I go patrolling with you again?"  
  
"Don't worry. You have two months before school starts. That's plenty of nights to get in on the action." She switched off the lamp beside Dawn, the single moon beam beyond the glass polished their faces. "Now sleep."  
  
"You were at Spike's, weren't you?"  
  
Buffy was rising, but plunked herself back down on to the mattress. "What?"  
  
"Clem said you like to 'nap' there."  
  
"That's right. I get tired, so I just use his place to rest for awhile. And?"  
  
"Its okay, you know. You could tell me the truth. How can you still want him?" Freckles swam in her white skin, her face saddened, voice flat.  
  
"Who? Clem? Nice guy, but my epidermis is too tight for him. I could freak him out."  
  
"Stop acting like you don't know who I'm talking about. Spike!"  
  
Buffy licked her lips, inhaled then exhaled quickly to collect her thoughts. "Dawn, get this straight." Her tone was hard edged, firm. "I don't miss Spike." She said at length. "I don't need him, never did."  
  
"I'm glad he's gone, after what he tried to do to you. I hope he never comes back."  
  
Buffy couldn't help the feeling of guilt roll in her tummy. But she used excuses as a shield. "It's my fault. Chip or no chip, I should've remembered he's still a vampire, a creature of evil. It's in his nature to do things like what he did. I should've expected it." There was disappointment in her green eyes going dark, lowering them on to her fidgeting fingers. "Why he left, I don't know. But he's gone and I doubt he'll be coming back any time soon." She said briskly as she walked to the door.  
  
"Then I don't know why you keep waiting for him."  
  
Buffy shut the door asking herself the same question.  
  
**********  
  
The moonlight poured over her a she stood patiently by the window, gazing out thoughtfully into the deserted night, her hands clasped together against her beating heart.  
  
Countless nights like this one, the lights of her room off, she'd stand quiet by her window, or even just sitting at the edge of her bed, sometimes forgetting to remove her worn out clothes, dirty from vampire dust.  
  
She was comfortable tonight though, dressed in a white tank top and flannel, pajama pants; her arms bare to savor the subtle wind of the air conditioning.  
  
Her awareness constantly heightened, mind free as her gaze drifted in no where particular outside, anticipating any signal, a sound, a movement of shadow he might offer.  
  
Nothing.  
  
The neighborhood was hushed, fireflies blinked in slow play, and not even a cloud loomed in the sky.  
  
The tree outside her window was always in sight. It was the tree he hid behind as he'd guard her through out the night, his burnt out cigarettes piling at his feet.  
  
She imagined he appeared from behind that tree, then leaned his back easily against the bark, smoking his cigarette while his sparkling blue eyes grabbed her, pulled her in and not letting go.  
  
He was draped in standard leather and black, his face narrow with hollow cheeks and a grin so dashingly wicked, her heart skipped from nice to naughty.  
  
She swallowed a lump in her throat, refused to blink away the false image. She watched almost expectedly as he took another drag, noted how his peroxide blond hair was in wild disarray, not like his usual slicked back do.  
  
"Hello, pet." She drew in a breath when his voice echoed faintly, released just as slow.  
  
How could he stand there looking so handsomely smug, knowing what he'd done to her and left her with out even a consideration of an explanation?  
  
"Bastard." Her whisper was anything but soft as he then vanished like a spirit.  
  
War continued to wage between heart and head with in the enclosed shell of her body.  
  
She couldn't love him. They shared bodies and beds, kisses and tongues that writhed with passion, hands that pleasurably hurt in all the right and wrong places, words spoken, but she only listened to the shallow need, denied the depth of what he was offering.  
  
She refused to share her heart with a soulless vampire.  
  
All was confirmed the night he left, the night he attempted to rape her.  
  
Ask me again why I could never love you! Some of the last words spoken to him repeated in her mind until they shook like an earth quake into her belly.  
  
Ask me again why I could never love you!  
  
Calm, she shut her eyes tightly, turned her body away from the window and went to her closet.  
  
She opened the door, and hanging behind it was the black leather duster-his trophy from stealing the life of the previous Slayer decades ago-he left behind to the Slayer who stole his heart.  
  
The smell of cigarettes and liquor and manly musk of his body no longer lingered on the leather. Yet a presence surrounded it, his aura still clung.  
  
She ran her fingers reverently over the lapels, imagined she felt the mounds of his chest beneath them.  
  
And after taking the duster gingerly in her arms, she threw it like a body to the floor, whipping it again to the hardwood, and again as red rage erupted through her.  
  
Damn him, she cursed. Damn him for the confusion, for the forbidden feelings he lead her to explore and enjoy, for hating him and missing him all at the same time.  
  
For the remorse she feels for violating him.  
  
When she finally quieted, leaving the crumpled duster at the foot of her bed, she put her hand to her face to soothe the burn, took a breath and then slid under the sheets, settling on to her downy pillow.  
  
She then reached down for the duster, and hugged it tight as she slept. 


	2. Homeward

Buffy/Spike fanfiction [6/02, revised 5/03] Post season 6-Sequel to AWAITING (Originally I was going to leave 'Awaiting' as is, but because of popular demand and because I wanted to see how this would play out, I've decided to finish it. My deepest thank you's to everyone who liked 'Awaiting.' This one, I'm not too happy about. 3rd in works. All characters belong to Whedon and ME)  
  
STAY, UNTIL THE SUN RISES: HOMEWARD  
  
Hong Kong is luminous at night. The lights are busy in an array of bright colors, as if the stars above lost touch of black and fell helplessly on to the attractive city.  
  
From the dock, Spike watched those lights smile at him as they shimmered in the water, and he wondered if the water would too catch his image with that same affection.  
  
He pulled himself out of useless wonderment, dismissing it away by flicking his still lit cigarette into the glitter of unfair waters.  
  
Taking a final glace at the city of firecrackers, he turned his back on it, headed towards the old and broken ship that would transport him to...where was it going? He didn't care. He'd go anywhere but not Sunnydale. He wanted to return, but not yet. Not until he'd make sense of everything.  
  
The pain that was born in Africa was far from being forgotten. Since then, it grew to a restless storm inside his chest, twisting in his gut. Emotions invaded him, the essence of an unwanted and welcomed stranger that is his newly earned soul.  
  
Dominating was guilt of his past century wrongs he committed against humanity. They haunted him.  
  
Even has he boarded the ship, the stench of vomit poisoning the air reminded him of a time long ago when he would have reveled at the odor of pending death or illness of others.  
  
But now, as he dodged the traffic of men carrying crates and nets of fish while squabbling in their Mandarin language, he was repulsed by it and his former actions.  
  
If only he could erase the past and bring justice to those he victimized. That impossible, instead his misdeeds came back to torture, his regrets mercilessly punishing.  
  
He escaped the above stench when he found a dingy but vacant cabin. The walls and floors were grimy and creaking at every movement of his steps. In the corners, water leaked, forming puddles with tiny critters swimming inside.  
  
He let out a sad sigh, then slowly slid down the wall he leaned against, eventually taking a seat on the dusty floor.  
  
The only window faced him from across the room. Soon, the sun would rise from behind the filthy glass.  
  
*********  
  
His mind stirred, dreaming of a happiness only dreams can create.  
  
It was of her, the Chosen One, the vampire Slayer, the protector of the world.  
  
But to him, she was only Buffy. His lady.  
  
They lay next to each other in his bed they know so well, bounded, raw and naked, in a white cotton sheet that held more than just their secrets. Their eyes seemed to float like waterfall mist, lingering and light as emotions crash deep then flow elegantly free. They exchanged gazes and time was meaningless.  
  
A vanilla scent filled him, irresistible yet softly pulling him into another world where she only exists. He assumed the aroma wandered from her hair, golden, spread against the white pillow like rays of sun.  
  
Just when he couldn't imagine the moment any more perfect, her any more beautiful...  
  
"I love you."  
  
The words drifted from her lips. Effortlessly. Naturally. Meant to be. From her heart to his.  
  
She lifted herself, her breasts unrestrained from the cotton on to the naked of her lover's chest.  
  
"I love you."  
  
Again, you make my heart beat.  
  
"I love you."  
  
Her breath hit his mouth, igniting his anticipation of receiving the softness of her lips, the tenderness of her kiss. The offering of herself.  
  
As her mouth fell to his, their lips moving like delicate silk flying sinuously in the wind, Spike's dream slowly faded to a gradual white light, sending him back into a dazed consciousness.  
  
"Buffy..." He called out in an invisible breath, mind still envying the fantasy, refusing reality.  
  
But the light grew brighter, penetrating through his lids. And as he opened them, first squinting in caution, felt his face begin to sizzle.  
  
When it occurred to him that he was laying in direct sun light from the window, he scrambled up yelling and frantically patting and smacking the burn away.  
  
In that sudden and short moment of panic, he'd almost forgotten where he was, or what he is. The things he'd done. It was even unknown to him how many weeks went by.  
  
He slumped in a corner and felt a growling hunger he tried so hard to ignore. His stomach had been neglected for days since the kitchen was fresh out of anything edible, making the crew live only on soggy rice, and leaving Spike famished.  
  
He'd hear rats scouring in the weak walls, but knowing that he'd see Buffy, maybe-just maybe, even touch her again, he refused to put his mouth to vermin.  
  
So he decided to stay perfectly still, sitting on the floor against the wall he made his home, while the beam of day slanted across the floor.  
  
But since his guilt surpassed his hunger, he shut his eyes, and a century of his undead crimes flashed repeatedly in his mind until they'd become as vividly alive as the day--or night--he committed them. The screams of his victims were deafening, sharp as the fangs of his other self.  
  
He remembered when he was still called William, committing his first evil act as a vampire. It was after being borne from Drusilla in that dingy alley in London, they returned to the party he fled from, and ruthlessly murdered almost every one of the guests. He recalled his first taste. The blood of Cecily--his unrequited love who proclaimed she was above him-- tasted like wine.  
  
Spike's mouth twitched as the tears were rising from the deep sadness in the pit of his gut. He closed his eyes, and was again brought back to the past, to that night by the railroad where he acquired his name. He could still feel the warm blood splattered all over his mouth and on his hands. It was blood of the innocent, warm as their once beating hearts that made it even tastier. He recalled the sinister grin stretched across his face as he looked down on the dozens of lifeless bodies laying on the grassy knoll, and the satisfaction he felt for pounding their heads in with railroad spikes.  
  
He extended his arm towards the slant of sun light by his feet, kept it there as it sizzled and burned, the crackling sound of his pale skin sharpening. His hand shook of pain, and when it became unbearable, a sob broke in his throat and he pulled his hand back, cradling it to his chest. Rocking himself, he wept in endless sorrow until he fell asleep again drained.  
  
It would be a long journey until home. 


	3. At Last

Buffy/Spike fanfiction[5/19/03] Post season 6 (All characters belong to Whedon and ME)  
  
STAY, UNTIL THE SUN RISES: AT LAST  
  
For nearly two months, Spike roamed the planet aimlessly as though he were floating through some sort of surreal dream--or nightmare, where his present fused with his crimes of past to create a new reality for him. But in his soul, among the alien madness and the tears he'd shed as he'd cower in filthy alleyways or temporarily douse them out with alcohol in dim-lit, smoky bars, something had nudged him, told him he was ready to return to Sunnydale.  
  
And there he sat, on the stone bench outside his crypt; his senses already acclimated to the muffled energy of the sealed hellmouth. The clothes he wore were dirty and wrinkled, hiding the visible scars and bruises, most of them self inflicted and fresh. He let his head go limp; hoping the nocturnal sounds filling the night would keep his unseen pain of the terrible images in his mind at bay. When tears threatened behind his eyes, he wondered why again he decided to come back here.  
  
From far behind, that's how Buffy saw him; his head low, back to her, and shoulders slumped as if too tired to fight gravity. The sight of him stopped her at mid-stride, then she stared keenly to make sure her mind wasn't playing another one of its cruel jokes on her. Dawn followed in tow, but she didn't notice Buffy had stopped, and ran into her shoulder.  
  
"Buffy?" She wasn't able to read what was on her face, something along the lines of disbelief. When she didn't answer, Dawn turned her attention straight ahead where Buffy had hers. She didn't hesitate once she registered in was Spike sitting there sadly. Before Buffy could stop her, Dawn was already walking towards him with a determined purpose in her gait.  
  
Buffy stood at a safe distance from Spike, and watched Dawn as she crossed her arms and spoke to him with enough fire in her voice to burn. "So, decided to show your face around here again, huh, Spike?"  
  
He had protected Dawn--or tried to as much as he possible could, and without question would do so again in a finger snap because she wasn't just Buffy's little sister, but he also cares about her. It hurt that she has such ill will against him, but he felt it well deserved. He turned his chin. "Nibblet," he merely said over his shoulder.  
  
"Dawn," she said through gritted teeth as he rose to face them. "Don't call me that ever..." Something in them gentled when they saw all of him. "Again," Dawn finished, dropping her arms at her sides, not so confident anymore.  
  
He looked haggard and disturbed as though he crawled around the earth twice on his hands and knees. His hair was a mass of brown and mess, and what remained of his peroxide blond was faded behind his head and in the tips that fell over his forehead. There were some healing cuts over his face and his knuckles were bruised and calloused. The green army jacket he wore was too big for him, or maybe, Buffy thought, he had just lost a lot of weight. But it was his eyes that seized her the most. They were hollow around the edges and that glittery blue seemed to tremble. He'd been crying.  
  
His voice was raspy and thick. "Whatever you say. Dawn." He forced a weak smile, then looked at her sister. He wanted to collapse. "Hello, Buffy."  
  
"Spike." Her reply was neutral.  
  
Dawn couldn't help concern weigh on her, but no matter how thin and weary he seemed, she straightened and re-crossed her arms, remembering he was still the one who almost raped her sister. She side stepped, blocking his gaze from Buffy. "No." Defiance was regained, and this time she wouldn't lose her grip. "No, back off."  
  
He lowered his chin in understanding as Buffy intervened. "Dawn."  
  
"You touch her, I'm not afraid to stake you. I'll do you in right now. I already slayed me three vamps in the last hour and I'm hyped up for more."  
  
"Be my guest. I won't stop you." The hopeless tone in his voice caught Buffy.  
  
She stepped up; put her hand on Dawn's arm. "Dawn, c'mon. Leave him alone."  
  
Being dragged by the arm, Dawn continued her taunts from over her shoulder. "You're lucky she stopped me."  
  
"Dawn. C'mon." She looked back once and saw Spike turn towards the door of his crypt and bang his head against it. "Hold on. You stay here."  
  
Dawn knitted her brows in confusion. "What? Why?"  
  
Buffy's gaze was still curiously fixed on Spike as he stumbled into the crypt. "I'm going to find out what's up with him."  
  
"No, Buffy." She fumbled for an excuse. "What if I get attacked?"  
  
"It's pretty slow tonight," her voice trailed off. "If anything does happen, scream and remember what I taught you."  
  
"Well, I don't remember. Can't you..." She gave up, "show me," she said to the air.  
  
Buffy heard crashing in his crypt, and the closer she got with each wary step, it grew louder. She now stood in the doorway, a spill of moonlight on the floor before her, and scanned cautiously for him. "Spike?"  
  
More breaking. More shatters.  
  
"Go away." He strained beyond the dark.  
  
"Spike? Where have you been?"  
  
"Gone."  
  
"Yeah. I got that." Her movements careful, she walked forward. Furniture was turned over, broken pieces scattered.  
  
"I should've never come back. I thought I could. I thought I could face you again. What was I bloody thinking!" He ended by flinging something glass to the wall.  
  
He surfaced from the shadows, and she saw he'd taken off his jacket, revealing badly marred and bruised skin. Slashes tore his arms and burn marks peeled. "What happened to you? Your arms..." She reached to touch them, but flinched when he grabbed the nearest table and tossed it across the room.  
  
"Go away Buffy. Just get the hell away." He brought his head to his hands, turned his back and wept away from her.  
  
"Spike. Spike! I'm not leaving until you tell me what happened to you." Her voice was solid as she pulled at him, but he broke free of her grasp as he staggered to the wall. "Stop it!" Yanking at his shoulder, he turned so that his back was against the wall. She was close enough now to see the color of his bruises and the depth of the cuts in the silver light, close enough to wonder what other horrors lie under his black shirt where it was once a playground for her mouth. "Spike." Her breath brushed the back of his hands.  
  
"He made it look so easy." He said weeping, muffled and wet through his hands. "I don't know how Angel did it. It hurts. What I did...What I did to you...To all those..." He slid his hands down his face, as shock paralyzed her. At the realization, she shoved herself away from the wall as though she was burned, backed up in panic almost tripping over furniture. When her balance steadied, she stared in awe and confusion through blur of her tear sprouting eyes. "Buffy, it was for you." Palms up, he lifted his arms, then dropped them as he sagged lower to the shadowed floor, sobbing.  
  
"Your...soul," she managed through quivering lips. Her heart sank into its own shadows when a tear drop over flowed and tracked her face. Her breath slowed and the only clear though in her mind was to run. And she did.  
  
"Hey. What happened?" Dawn said as Buffy rushed past her.  
  
"We're going home."  
  
"What happened with Spike?" Dawn struggled to keep up with her speed. "Buffy?"  
  
But Buffy ignored her as tried to get away from the sobbing.  
  
**********  
  
Pacing into the house, Buffy headed directly to the living room knowing Dawn would close the front door after them. Dawn called out to her sister, but Buffy was already lost in thought, staring blankly at the unlit fireplace, watching everything Spike has ever been to her flash in her mind. From the enemy, to the stalker, the warrior, the lover. The attacker. And always, always the vampire who she had relentlessly persecuted. But somewhere between the swinging of fists and the caressing of fingers, he had been someone who understood parts of herself that was blind even to her.  
  
Both their actions would not go unrecognized. He had a soul now, and from the haunted eyes and the mauled body, he had suffered to acquire it. No longer able to grapple with guilt and longing, she shut her eyes and surrendered to it. "I'm going back."  
  
"Why? What for?" Dawn asked while following Buffy to the coat rack.  
  
"I'll fill you in later. Now, you're just gonna have to trust me."  
  
Dawn blocked herself between Buffy and the door and crossed her arms. She wouldn't back down and be closed off from her sister again. "I'll trust you if you tell me."  
  
"Ok," she huffed out in a complying breath. "You know how Spike and I used to..." She couldn't find the appropriate words.  
  
"...have crazy, off the wall monkey sex? Yeah, you told me."  
  
"It wasn't..." She shook her head at the interpretation and continued. "Fine. Well, that was wrong. I should've never treated him that way."  
  
"What do you mean? What about when he wanted to rape you?"  
  
She ignored the memory that shivered through her. "What I did to him all those months was just as bad. I used him, I-I took advantage of him because I believed his feelings weren't real."  
  
"How do you know they are now? You said it yourself, he's a vamp..."  
  
"He has a soul," Buffy interrupted as Dawn's face shifted and paled; her chest swelling with remorse and rendering her speechless. "Yeah, I said the same thing. And it was for me Dawn." Tears glazed her eyes. "He did it for me. I have to go back." She cleared her throat, wiped a tear with the back of her hand. "I need to see if he'll be alright. Not just for him, but for me too."  
  
"Ok." Dawn simply said and ran passed her up to her room. Buffy let her go and turned the knob. "Buffy." She turned and saw Dawn standing at the top of the staircase fiddling with her fingers. "There's some pigs blood in the back of the refrigerator. It's not fresh, but if you heat it up, I think it could be ok."  
  
Buffy managed a wry smile as she looked proudly and appreciative at her little sister. "I think so too."  
  
**********  
  
It was deathly quiet when she walked into his crypt carrying a bag slung over her shoulder. The place looked abandoned, but she knew he was there and noticed his leg jutting out from the side of the sarcophagus. She emptied the contents from her bag on to a ledge, pulling out a thermos, a first aid kit and candles with matches. "It's better if you'd have just kept away," he said through the dark silence.  
  
He heard the heels of her shoes click louder towards him. She lowered and offered him a warm cup of blood. "Dawn thought you could use this." The smell livened his senses.  
  
"Dawn? So she doesn't want me left for dead in the California sun. Not that I would blame her." He gulped down the blood, the chugging sound floating into the air.  
  
"No one wants you dead." She went to retrieve a first aid kit, pulling out gauze and alcohol.  
  
"That so? Hey! Wha-what are you doing?" He started to scrambled away from her when she crouched in front of him and dabbed a burning cloth to his wounds.  
  
"Relax, relax." She put the cloth down and touched a hand to his wrist in a gesture of peace. "I'm only trying to help you."  
  
He banged his forehead to the concrete and shivered as though he feared the monster in his closet escaped. "I don't deserve it! You need to leave." He convinced himself he didn't, so much that when she looked upon him with sympathetic eyes or gentle touches, it was torture for him all over again.  
  
She inched closer to him, tears tracking his face glittered in the slant of moonlight. "Yes." She whispered, "you do." He brought his shaky gaze to hers and out of all the emotions he couldn't name passing in those green eyes, he saw apology. "Let me help you." She swept soft fingers to his forehead. Wordless, he gathered himself up, her at his side to keep him from swaying. He eased on to the sarcophagus, the scent of vanilla drifting into his senses. "Lie down and get some sleep. You're home now," she said as she patted the pillow under his head and unfurled the blanket left by Clem from his stay here.  
  
He stared up at her. "Am I?"  
  
"Yeah," she said absently while reaching for the first aid kit, not knowing how much her simple comment valued to him. "And when you wake up, tell me everything."  
  
He watched her mend and examine the cuts on his arms. "It could be after morning."  
  
Her eyes flicked to his. "I'll wait." Then his body went lax under her hands, and wandered into a deep sleep where nightmares plagued him. But she had stayed with him through the screams, even after the sun rose.  
  
**********  
  
(I'm sooo disappointed in myself. I think for now I'm just going to stick with short ficlets. Thanks so much for reading!!) 


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